


Crazy, Beautiful Life

by Icicle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Dancing, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Crack, Glitter, HP: EWE, Harry is a Tease, Harry swears he's not gay, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, Oral Sex, Pansy and Hermione are matchmakers, Porn With Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexy Draco, Slytherins Being Slytherins, scheming Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/pseuds/Icicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is tired of Harry moping around, so she drags him to what Harry thinks is a Muggle concert. When Harry sees Pansy and Draco dancing and singing in the front row, Harry <i>really</i> likes what he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy, Beautiful Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashii Black (ashiiblack)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashiiblack/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crazy, Beautiful Life Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/291543) by ashiiblack. 



**Title:** Crazy, Beautiful Life

 **Author:** [](http://icicle33.livejournal.com/profile)[**icicle33**](http://icicle33.livejournal.com/)

 **Rating:** **NC-17**

 **Word count:** ~3600

 **Warnings:** adult language, **PWP,** blowjobs, slutty dancing, and an insane amount of glitter

 **Summary:** Hermione is tired of Harry moping around, so she drags him to what Harry thinks is a Muggle concert. When Harry sees Pansy and Draco dancing and singing in the front row, Harry _really_ likes what he sees.

 **A/N:** For [](http://ashiiblack.livejournal.com/profile)[**ashiiblack**](http://ashiiblack.livejournal.com/) , who is not only an amazing beta but a wonderful friend too. I ♥ you, dear, and hope this brightens your day. She requested Harry and Draco at a Ke$ha concert. Yes, you read that right, a Ke$ha concert, so be ready for glitter, awesomeness, and somewhat of a **crack!fic**.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
__  
**Crazy, Beautiful Life**  
  


 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

 

“Harry, I’m sick and tired of your moping and complaining.” Hermione sighed. “You’re coming with me and that’s final! I’ve had a shit week with my boss hassling me at work. And I will _not_ deal with the likes of you too.” Hermione crossed her arms and scowled at Harry in that ‘don’t you dare mess with me’ manner of hers.

 

 

“But, Mione, I don’t _wanna_ go. I’m dealing with a crisis here.” Harry blinked at her and tried his best to pout and look pathetic.

 

 

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione replied sternly, her voice harsher now, “it has been over six months since you admitted you were gay. And trust me, Harry, it was _no_ secret. We ALL knew.”

 

 

“But—”

 

 

“No. You _cannot_ mope inside this disaster of a flat you have here,” she motioned distastefully at the various clothing, books, and even dirty dishes that Harry had sprawled around his living room. “You _will_ come with me to this concert tonight. _Unless_... you prefer to stay here and give this flat a good cleaning.”

 

 

Harry sighed and pressed his lips into a thin line. Perhaps cleaning wouldn’t be so bad he thought, running a hand across his chin. Merlin, Hermione needed to spend less time with Mrs Weasley. She was starting to channel Molly a little too well.

 

 

“The Muggle way,” Hermione added, arching an eyebrow and looking much too pleased with herself.

 

 

Harry’s eyes widened and he gulped. The last thing he wanted to do was clean his entire flat the Muggle way and with Hermione supervising. Years ago, he had sworn that he would never clean anything the Muggle way _ever_ again. All those years with the Dursleys had traumatised him.

 

 

“What time should I be ready, Mione?”

 

 

“Be ready at seven sharp, dear.” Hermione smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I must be off now. See you at seven _sharp_ ,” she repeated, as she stepped into the fireplace. “Oh, and Harry, do something about those dishes.”

 

 

She scrunched her nose and reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley even further.

 

 

“It’s unsanitary, really.”

 

 

 

 

And with a bright shock of green, Hermione was gone.

 

 

 

 

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered to himself and plopped down on the couch. “What did I just agree to?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

 

 

 

Hermione had shown up at Harry’s flat at a quarter to seven. She was bouncy, giddy, and high on life. Of course, it had completely unsettled him, and he tried to stall and nag his way out of going to the concert for the good portion of an hour. Unfortunately, he had failed and was now struggling his way through crowds of blue haired, animal print, and sunglasses wearing teenagers with Hermione in tow.

 

 

When they finally made it inside the old blues club, Harry looked down at his outfit and frowned; he was wearing a pair of old jeans and a tight white tee shirt, much tighter than Harry ever wore his shirts. Hermione had insisted on dressing him for the occasion and wouldn’t take no for an answer. As much as he loved her, sometimes that girl was too bossy for her own good. Oh well, at least he had been able to wear his old jeans rather than the impossibly tight black trousers Hermione had insisted on. He was a 31-year-old man, for Merlin’s sake. He didn’t need his best friend smothering him and dressing him as if he were some sort of invalid.

 

 

“Hermione...are you sure I look okay?” Harry asked, for what he knew was at least the tenth time that evening or perhaps even that hour.

 

 

“You look lovely, Harry,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Those clothes actually fit you. And—as I’ve _already_ explained, there are mostly Muggles here, so we have to blend in.”

 

 

“I suppose.”

 

 

“Now, stop acting like a tired, old codger and let’s get as close as we can to the front!” Hermione grabbed him by the arm. “You already made us almost an hour late.”

 

 

“Sorry,” Harry grumbled as he allowed Hermione to lead him. He just knew this was going to be a terrible evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

 

  
  
_Go insane, go insane_  
Throw some glitter  
Make it rain and let me see their hands  
Let me see their hands  
Let me see their hands  


 

 

Harry had never heard of Ke$ha before; he wasn’t into Muggle music like Hermione or Ginny were, and besides, he was an Auror. His job required that he put in long hours, and afterwards, he was too tired to want to do anything but sit home and read or watch some telly. He didn’t do research for some boring Transfiguration journal like Hermione. And they weren’t teenagers anymore; the last place he wanted to be was at a loud concert. Fuck, they had just gotten there and he already had a headache.

 

 

Running a shaky hand through his hair, he sighed. Again. He had lost count of how many times he sighed since he left the house. To makes matters worse, he lost Hermione in the crowd of people. Not that it was hard to do, considering the amount of glitter, confetti, and bubbles that seemed to be swallowing them. His head was itchy from all the glitter and confetti and Merlin knew what else that was nesting in his hair.

 

 

“Hermione,” he cried, averting his eyes from the bouncing strobe lights and trying to avoid swallowing more bubbles and glitter. “Hermione?”

 

 

“The name’s Liza,” a pink haired girl next to him purred, “but you can call me Hermione if you want, _sexy_.” She was tall, almost as tall as Harry was, and she leaned in close to him. Too close.

 

 

“No, I...”

 

 

“What was that cutie?” the girl asked.

 

 

She had a whiny American accent, which made Harry cringe and want to end their conversation as soon as possible.

 

 

“Erm—”

 

 

“Don’t be shy,” she said, and then reached over and placed a hand on his left arsecheek, squeezing it hard. _Jesus Christ._

 

 

“Excuse me,” Harry growled, removing the girl’s long, red fingernails at once. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

 

“Sorry.” The girl shrugged, brushing her trashy fingernails against Harry’s cheek. “Must’ve _slipped_.”

 

 

Harry glared at her furiously and walked away from the large crowd of people. Slipped... _yeah right_. He needed to get away from these randy teenagers and find Hermione.

 

 

Weaving in and out of screaming and dancing fools, Harry made his way to the front. And what he saw in the front row of the crowd, made his jaw drop.

 

 

Standing in the front row, well, actually more like bouncing in the front row of the crowd, were two glittering and all too familiar blurs: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.

 

 

No fucking way. Why the hell did he have to run into them—and _here_ of all places? He wanted to turn around and run, as far away in the other direction as possible, but then the spotlights started shining on the front row—and Malfoy was no longer a blur.

 

 

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy in months. And it had been much longer since he had _actually_ looked at him. The Malfoy in his mind had always been the scrawny, pasty-faced boy with a pointed chin and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. But Merlin’s beard, that Malfoy, Hogwarts Malfoy, could not have been further from the man he saw dancing beneath the spotlight. This Malfoy, post-Hogwarts Malfoy, was no longer a pointy git; he was stunning. His blond hair was much longer than he had worn it in school, chin length, and falling in his eyes. Ribbons of pink, green, and gold glitter were strewn through his hair, and his face, his pale face that at one time Harry had found almost sallow in colour, was now luminous—pale and ethereal under the bright light with just a hint of glitter highlighting his cheekbones.

 

 

Bloody hell, Malfoy was fucking gorgeous. Harry just gawked, his mouth hanging in a wide ‘O’ as he took in the new and improved Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t only his hair that was different. He was dressed in a sleeveless black shirt that hugged his torso like a glove, his arms lean but oh-so defined. When in the hell did Malfoy get biceps like that? And his jeans, a dark midnight blue, were so tight that they appeared to be painted on, sitting low on his hips and revealing a flash of pale skin while he swayed his hips perfectly in tune with the music.

 

 

Harry was practically drooling. The last few times he had seen Malfoy he had been dressed in his Ministry robes and his hair had been slicked back. Who would have guessed that Malfoy was hiding such a delicious body underneath those loose robes and hair gel? He knew that he should stop staring, but his trousers were becoming unbearably tight and his feet were frozen to the spot.

 

 

 

 

As long as Malfoy didn’t see him, what was the harm?

 

 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

  
  
_I’m in love, alright_  
With my crazy, beautiful life  
With the parties, the disasters  
With my friends all pretty and plastered  


 

 

Harry wasn’t sure for how long he had been standing there, drooling over Malfoy and ignoring the painful and ever growing erection in his trousers. At least a few songs had gone by, but this next song appeared to be one of Malfoy and Parkinson’s favourites because they started singing aloud and grinding against each other.

 

 

Now dancing back to back, Malfoy was gyrating his hips and swaying his arms through the air, stopping every few seconds to brush his long fringe out of his eyes. Mostly everyone else was dancing too, most bobbing and jumping, but some dancing even more lewdly than Malfoy and Parkinson. Still, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy; it was as if Malfoy was the only person in the room. He was completely mesmerised by the glimpses of pales skin that would peek through his shirt, his striking blond hair shining like a beacon amongst the crowd, and the graceful motions that made him appear as if he were gliding effortlessly, gracefully, to every beat. Harry could care less what that Ke$ha bint was doing on stage, or even that Parkinson was strutting around in her leather hot pants and leopard print midriff baring top.

 

 

  
  
  
_This is our last chance_  
Give me your hands  
‘Cause our world is spinning at the speed of light  
The night is fading, heart is racing  
Now, just come and love me like we’re gonna die  
  


 

No, all he saw was Malfoy—Malfoy with his incredibly hot arse and raspy singing voice. _Fuck_. His mouth was watering and he couldn’t refrain from licking his lips. It was as if Malfoy was calling to him, dancing only for him, and before he could stop himself, he walked closer to the front and directly into Malfoy’s line of sight. He should have stopped; the last thing he needed was for his former enemy to see him lusting over him, but it was unavoidable. Malfoy had already spotted him.

 

 

Harry gasped and then swallowed loudly, trying not to choke on the glitter he had just inhaled. Merlin’s beard...he was going to get it now. What was Malfoy going to do now that he realised Harry had been watching? He expected that Malfoy might hex him, curse him, perhaps even punch him. He did not, however, expect that Malfoy would smile at him and wink. The bastard was flirting with him. It couldn’t be. Harry frowned, certain that he had misjudged Malfoy’s reaction. But then Malfoy smiled again, wider than before, and jerked his head towards the hallway as if prompting Harry to follow him.

 

 

 

 

What the hell just happened?

 

 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

 

 

“Liked my little show?”

 

 

“Huh?”

 

 

“The dancing, Potter.” Malfoy greeted Harry with a wicked grin, tilting his head back and running a hand through his hair, which spewed glitter everywhere. “I saw you _watching_ me, Potter.”

 

 

“I was _not_.”

 

 

“You were practically drooling, Potter. Don’t lie.” Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. “I thought Gryffindors _weren’t_ allowed to lie.”

 

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry spat, a flash of familiar anger stirring in his gut.

 

 

“Ah,” Malfoy drawled, looking down at the floor and rolling his eyes, “we’re back to insults. I thought we were _adults_ now.”

 

 

Harry narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment—his hands clenching at his sides and tensing into tight fists that just wanted to punch that smug grin off Malfoy’s face.

 

 

“Malfoy—you...I”

 

 

“Yes, yes...you’re always the eloquent one.” Malfoy shook his hair out again and started preening in the bathroom mirror. “Bugger.” He rubbed underneath his eyes, which had faint traces of black underneath. “No smear kohl, my arse,” Malfoy complained. “Someone is going to be getting a rather angry owl tomorrow.”

 

 

“What are you on about, Malfoy?”

 

 

Malfoy pursed his lips and regarded him closely, looking Harry up and down salaciously. His intense gaze made Harry uncomfortable, but at the same time, it sent a deep rush straight to his cock.

 

 

“Nothing, Potter,” he replied with a smirk. “Now...where were we?”

 

 

“Huh?”

 

 

Malfoy stepped closer to him, only inches away from Harry’s face, and leaned in so close that Harry was sure he was going to kiss him. Instead, he just ran a bony hand through Harry’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

 

 

“Not bad Potter,” he rasped, his voice sultry and low, “you clean up _good_.”

 

 

“Malfoy—”

 

 

“Just shut up already. Hasn’t anyone ever told you...you talk too much?”

 

 

“Hmmph.”

 

 

Malfoy grabbed him and slammed him up against the wall, first holding him in place, and then running his hands down Harry’s body—straight to his groin.

 

 

“What are you? This is a loo—”

 

 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “I’m unfastening your trousers.”

 

 

“But why? I’m not—”

 

 

“What?” Malfoy snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Not _gay_ , Potter? And you’re right, this is a public loo. _Anyone_ can walk in.” He leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, “That’s half the _fun_ , Potter.”

 

 

“But...”

 

 

He ignored Harry’s squirms and protests, and continued to unbutton his trousers, pulling them down to his ankles as well as his pants.

 

 

“Gryffindor lion boxers....how very _predictable_.” Malfoy frowned for a second, scrunching his handsome face into an all too familiar scowl, but then once he noticed Harry’s fully erect prick, he smiled devilishly and knelt down in front of him.

 

 

“Not gay. _Yeah right_.”

 

 

“Mal—” But before Harry could get the arrogant git’s name out, Malfoy’s mouth was already on his cock—first licking the tip of his flushed cock and then swirling his lips around it.

 

 

Of course, Harry had received blowjobs before; Ginny had been more than willing to satisfy that need for him, but having a man’s mouth, Malfoy’s mouth, on his prick was completely different. Malfoy’s mouth was hot and wet, his lips surprisingly soft, and he wrapped his left hand firmly around the base of his shaft, gliding up and down in perfect sync with his mouth. At first Harry had been shocked, annoyed even at Malfoy’s audacity, but now he wanted nothing more than to enjoy this wanton act.

 

 

Harry tilted his head back and let out a low moan, finally giving in and twisting his fingers in Malfoy’s silky hair. Malfoy seemed to relish in his delight, making small groaning noises from deep within his throat, almost like a purr, as he picked up the pace and sucked harder and faster.

 

 

“Gawwwd.” Harry’s cock was pulsating, his entire body trembling as Malfoy bobbed up and down, sucking and massaging his prick with his eager mouth. It was as if Malfoy had been born to suck cock, his pale cheeks flushing and eyes closed in deep concentration as if he were performing the easiest and most rewarding act in the world. At this rate, there was no way Harry was going to last, not with Malfoy’s expert mouth on his throbbing cock and his soft fingers fondling his bollocks. Ginny never did that. Why the hell did she never do that?

 

 

“Mal-foy,” Harry groaned out, his voice breathless and raspy. He was trying to warn him; Harry was so dangerously close to the edge, close to complete and utter bliss. When Malfoy ignored his cry, Harry tugged on his hair, trying once again to get his attention. This time, Malfoy looked up, his pupils wide and glazed over, his eyes like two silver pools washing over him, drowning him, and unearthing Harry more than he ever could have imagined. And then the bastard winked. Again. His mouth was still firmly around Harry’s cock, but he dropped the hand that had been fondling Harry’s balls.

 

 

He figured that Malfoy was about to release his cock—that his bliss was finally coming to an end, but then he ran his hand up Harry’s thigh, digging his nails into the sensitive flesh and slowly straying back towards his arse. He started kneading Harry’s right arsecheek, causing his cock to throb, painfully so, in Malfoy’s mouth. And as he fought back another moan of pleasure, trying not to strangle Malfoy with his wild thrusts into that hot fucking mouth, a warm finger pushed into his arse. Bloody hell. He certainly had not been expecting that. He wanted to complain, to push Malfoy away, but—Merlin’s balls—it felt so fucking good. Malfoy’s hot mouth was sucking his cock so hard, so desperately, as if he wanted nothing more than to suck it dry, and his long, nimble fingers, now two of them, were working their way in and out of his arse, causing Harry’s entire body to shiver, pushing him closer and closer to the edge—and as Malfoy inserted a third finger, scissoring his fingers deeper into Harry’s arse, finally brushing up against his prostate, Harry couldn’t take it anymore. So with a loud cry of “Dray-co”, Harry came in deep bursts of white, which Malfoy just lapped up greedily as if it were the sweetest liquid he had ever tasted.

 

 

“Oh my god,” Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.

 

 

“I know.”

 

 

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up gracefully, shaking his hair back in place. His lips were swollen and cheeks flushed; Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment.

 

 

“I have many talents, Potter.”

 

 

“Right.” Harry gulped, standing inches away from Malfoy with his pants still at his ankles and his cock exposed.

 

 

“You should put that way,” Malfoy said, his voice deep and silky again. Why hadn’t he ever used _that_ voice before? Things might have been different between them if Malfoy had used that sexy fucking voice.

 

 

He gulped again and started fumbling with his pants and trousers. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t possess any of Malfoy’s grace and dexterity.

 

 

“Potter, Potter...” Malfoy snorted and covered Harry’s hands with his own and pushed them out of the way, his touch lingering longer than necessary. “Let me help you.” He fastened Harry’s trousers expertly, and then pushed Harry against the wall, tangling his hands in Harry’s hair and pressing their lips together.

 

 

“Mal-foy, I’m not—”

 

 

“Yes, I know...you’re _not_ gay.” Malfoy smirked at him and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small, black card. “Here’s my card, Potter. If you ever want to _not_ be gay. Again.”

 

 

And without another word, Malfoy walked away from him and out the door.

 

 

 

 

  
  
**~*~**  


 

 

 

Harry was slumped up against the bathroom wall and fingering the black card that Malfoy had handed him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there; the concert must have been close to ending by now, and Hermione was probably worried sick looking for him. Or maybe not. After all, Hermione had been in on this stunt as well. _That bitch_.

 

He looked down at the card in front of him and scoffed, still not believing the words written on it.

 

 

 

  


 

 

He couldn’t believe that Malfoy turned out to be Hermione’s _new_ boss. He knew that she always complained about her boss and whinged about how young and inexperienced he was, but not once did she ever mention that her boss was _Malfoy_. Or had she? Honestly, he couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter now. There was no way he would ever live this embarrassment down.

 

And worst of all, he had liked it, more than liked it. He had _fucking_ loved it. His cock was aching for Draco _sodding_ Malfoy, and he was seriously considering asking the arrogant git out on a date.

 

 

What was the world coming to? Malfoy and Hermione made a frightening team.

 

 

After a deep breath and splashing some cold water on his face, he left the bathroom and rejoined the concert. Hermione had some explaining to do.

 

 

**~Fin**

 

* * *

  
**Author's note:** The song lyrics in this short fic do not be long to me. They are from various Ke$ha songs: "[Crazy Beautiful Life](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/keha/crazybeautifullife.html)", "[Blow](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/keha/blow.html)", and "[Animal](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/keha/animal.html)".  I'd love to hear your thoughts on this bizarre little fic. 

**~Icicle**


End file.
